


See You Soon Sherlock

by Sassy_Dinosaur



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depressed John, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, John Misses Sherlock, John's POV, M/M, Nightmares, No Mary, Post-Reichenbach, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sherlock's POV, Suicide Attempt, fluff ending, just implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:20:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3714805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassy_Dinosaur/pseuds/Sassy_Dinosaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after The Fall John is more depressed than ever. He misses Sherlock and regrets not telling him how he felt, that he loved him.</p><p> </p><p>{updated}</p>
            </blockquote>





	See You Soon Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> First Fanfic posted. Suggestions are welcome, just keep it nice please.
> 
> Hope you enjoy
> 
> More at the end
> 
>  
> 
> {NOW UPDATED}

John has been finding it hard to get out of bed as the days go on. In two days it will be the anniversary of his best friend, Sherlock, jumping off Bart's Hospital right in front of him. John doesn’t think he can make it out of bed today, let alone the flat without breaking down again. The flat is full of constant reminders that Sherlock’s dead, and John couldn’t save him, ‘What a good friend I was’ John thought to himself sitting up in the bed.

 

His heart is still racing from the nightmare he had the night before. They’re all the same; Sherlock standing on the roof about to jump, and John not being able to save him yet again.

 

Not long after Sherlock died John fell into a deep depression. This depression is worse than returning to London a wounded broken soldier, and worse than his sister ,Harry, going into rehab once again. Because of the depression he can’t - won’t - go to work anymore. He’s lucky Mycroft, Sherlock's older brother, pays for 221B now. John barely eats, and when he does sleep its invaded by nightmares of Sherlock and Afghanistan.

 

The first anniversary was awful. John had tried to overdose on sleeping pills, but Greg, one of his friends he met through Sherlock and the chief of police at the London Yard, had “saved him”. John didn’t want to be saved, he just wanted to die, to make the nightmares go away, to be with Sherlock again. Since then the nightmares had gotten progressively worse each time he does sleep, they were - are - more violent, more bloody. It’s like his mind wants him to break down, to go insane with grief and guilt.

 

On that day, John was taken to the hospital, they needed to pump his stomach of all the pills he had swallowed. He spent a full week in the hospital, John now understands why Sherlock doesn’t like them. After a week on suicide watch John went back to 221B. Harry forced him to see his therapist again, but she didn’t understand, she didn’t help. She never helped.

 

Mr. Hudson, his landlady, constantly hovered over him, bringing food and making him eat it, coming up to chat, and cleaning up. Even though she cleaned to whole flat there was one place neither of them could bring themselves to go into; Sherlock's room.

 

After the suicide attempt, Greg had come by to take his gun away, and swept the flat for drugs, but of course, there was none there never was any. He was just doing his job, though, and John couldn't hold that against him.

 

Everyone John knew he had either met through Sherlock or was tied to Sherlock somehow. John detached himself from everyone, or at least tried to, it wasn't as easy to do as he thought.

 

**~John's POV~**

 

My therapist is terrible, ‘why am I even here’? She always asks the most idiotic questions.

 

Right on cue she asks “What bothering you John?” How do you even answer that question after all I’ve been through? ‘everyone watches me like a hawk now, why can’t they just leave me alone’?

 

“I miss Sherlock, he was my best friend, and now he dead” is all I say, that not what I wanted to say. I want to say something like _‘nothings wrong, just my best friend that I’m in love with, but I didn’t tell him, is dead. what do you think is wrong?’_ , she really can be an idiot sometimes. After the hour is up she lets me leave, we never do talk like we should, but she doesn’t ask the right questions.

 

The cab ride back to 221B feels like it’s going in slow motion. Everything feels that way now, but returning home makes is the worst. I guess the worst part about Sherlock being dead isn’t that I’m alone in our flat, alone with his things that I can't bring myself to get rid of. Although it’s not the best thing either, the worst is living with an unsaid love confession.

 

_‘Maybe that would have stopped him from jumping, but you didn’t tell him. Now he’s dead! You let him die! It’s your fault he’s dead.’_

 

**~ Next Day ~**

 

Tomorrow is the two year anniversary of Sherlock jumping off of Bart's Hospital right in front me, he made me watch. Everyone expects me to be happy and cheery. Cheery? How can I be cheery on the anniversary of the day my best friend killed himself?

 

Sitting up against the headboard, I think about tomorrow, and what happened. Last year tomorrow I tried to kill myself to be with Sherlock and no one understood. A year before that Sherlock killed himself without any explanation. _‘Because of you...Because of you...Because of you’_ chants in my head, I need to stop thinking about that, I can’t though. That day ruined my life, no one just bounces back from their best friend killing himself in front of them.

 

“Better get out today, doubt I’ll be able to tomorrow” I say to myself, I don't know when it started, but since Sherlock died I’ve started talking to myself. It’s comforting, a bit weird, but comforting to know someone is listening.

 

Apparently Sherlock gave me everything in his will, except a few family items the went to Mycroft. I didn’t have the heart or strength at the time to throw any of it away. Except the body parts in the fridge, but other than those nothing in the flat was thrown away.

 

After the funeral, I spent hours putting Sherlock's loose notes and case files into folders. I still ,after two years, can’t figure out why I did that. Looking back on everything I find myself thinking _‘why’_ a lot.

 

 _‘Why did Sherlock kill himself? Why didn’t he talk to me about it? Why didn’t I tell him how I felt? Why did Greg save me? Why am I still alive? Why? WHY?’_ no one has answers, they just have excuses and apologies.

 

When my depression had become apparent Greg came by the flat. I thought he came to chat and grieve with me, but no. He came to take my gun and swept the flat for Sherlock’s non-existent drugs. He said something about Mycroft telling him to for my own safety. I can’t blame him, I would have done the same thing to Greg. He knew there wouldn’t be any drugs in the flat, Sherlock liked working cases too much.

 

Looking back on it, I think it was more for me and him than Sherlock having drugs in the flat.

 

**~ Next Day ~**

 

 _‘Today Sherlock killed himself two years ago, God I miss him’_.

 

I’m broken, alone, and surprisingly functioning. I didn’t even remember getting out of bed or making breakfast, _‘luckily I didn’t burn down the flat’_. I think of Sherlock and the arguments about him burning down the flat with his experiments. “God I’m pathetic”

 

_‘pathetic...pathetic...pathetic...just die!’_

 

So far today is nothing like last year, but last year I tried to killed myself, an non-functioning, unfocused mess with 26 sleeping pills in his stomach waiting for death. Today I can function, _‘but for how long?’_

 

**~~~~**

 

I know today will be calls from numerous people I don’t want to talk to, all asking how I’m doing. What a stupid question.

 

_‘How am I supposed to be doing?’_

 

Greg and Harry call first, they will call to see if I’m okay, and I say “Yes, I’m fine” in a rehearsed voice I picked up after my suicide attempt.

 

I will then sit alone in either my chair or my room until Mrs. Hudson comes to check on me.

 

**~~~~**

 

With a “YOOHOO” she’s there in the doorway with tea and biscuits. It’s weird how I can never be fake in front of her, Sherlock was like a son to her. I’m sure she know I’ve lying about the whole “not gay” thing.

 

**~~~~**

 

After Mrs. Hudson leaves I don’t have the energy to get out of my chair. I find myself staring at Sherlock bedroom door. I never did have the heart or stomach to go in there. I’d probably find something of his that would trigger something inside of me, or a memory of him. A sad, very soft chuckle made it’s way out of my throat.

 

_‘Pathetic… pathetic… pathetic… you couldn’t save him… worthless… worthless… worthless… just die!’_

 

_‘I must look like a wreck, I need a shower’_

 

**~~~~**

 

I take long showers now, for the first five minutes or so I just stand there while the water runs over me. I spend at least another ten to twenty minutes sitting on the floor of the shower thinking about all the guilt I feel, all the things I should have said. I only get privacy in the bathroom, I’m sure Mycroft had cameras installed after Sherlock’s death.

 

_‘Pathetic… should have died… worthless… just kill yourself, John… you’ll feel better… you’ll see sherlock again… just do it, John!’_

 

**~~~~**

 

I slowly get dry and sit on the floor in nothing but my underwear. “Should I do it, should I try again?”

 

_‘This will kill Mrs. Hudson... and Greg... and Harry’_

 

_‘Pathetic… should have died… worthless… just kill yourself John… you’ll feel better… you’ll see Sherlock again… DO IT JOHN… DO IT… DO IT… DO IT!’_

 

_‘I will’_

 

Not wanting to be saved this time, I get dress quickly. I’m tired, tired of the nightmares, haunting unsaid words, and guilt from not saving Sherlock. Nothing can stop me this time.

 

When I open the bathroom door my stomach does cartwheels, almost making me vomit. _‘_

 

 _NO… this can’t be right’_.

 

Sherlock is laying in his adopted thinking pose on the couch. I’d seen Sherlock everywhere after he died, but it stopped after the suicide attempt.

 

_‘It’s just your mind… it’s just you mind… you’ll see him soon enough…’_

 

“I’m going crazy” i whispered. I couldn’t help it, I had to say his name “Sherlock?” He didn’t respond or even move. My mind is playing tricks on me. This isn’t going to stop me, not this time.

 

**~~~~**

 

I walk into the kitchen, in here there’s a drawer full of countless used knives, razor blades, and scalpels for Sherlock’s experiments. I could never get rid of Sherlock’s things, even these.

 

_‘How did Greg not found of these?’_

 

There is no specific razor I’m looking for, right now I don’t care what experiment it was used for, it just needs to sharp, able to make one swift movement. None of this will matter in a few minutes.

 

As I walk back to the bathroom, razor hidden in my pants pocket encase Mycroft does have cameras in the flat. I approach the bathroom door I think _‘I should write a note’_ , but decided against it. Even if I did write a note no one would understand. With my hand on the doorknob I turn to look at Sherlock lying on the couch.

 

“See you soon Sherlock” There’s something peaceful about it, seeing Sherlock. It motivates me more. With that, I turn the doorknob and close tthe door behind me.

 

**~~~~**

 

The water is still warm from my shower when I turn it back on. I push the razor deep into my wrist and drag it over, making a deep, clean, straight cut across the vein in my wrist. I repeat on the other wrist, hands shaking from blood loss and adrenaline.

 

I heard pounding on the door **_‘NOT AGAIN!’_ ** why won’t they just let me die?

 

The door swung open. Someone was calling my name, but before I could find out who darkness took me.

 

_‘See you soon Sherlock’_

 

**~ Sherlock's POV ~**

 

Today is the two year anniversary of my ‘death’.

 

I can’t help but feel guilty for not telling John that I didn't die, but Moriarty would have killed him, I love John too much for him to die. I know he tried to kill himself a year ago, Mycroft contacted my from Serbia saying John took a lot of pills and that he would contact Greg immediately.

 

My heart stopped when Mycroft said that John had tried to kill himself. It wasn’t until Mycroft told me John survived and was in the hospital did my heart start up again. The thought of John dead was painful, I guess I got a taste of what he was feeling- is still feeling.

 

Lately all I feel is guilt. Guilt for leaving John without telling him how I felt about him, and especially guilt for making him watch. For ‘dying’ in front of John, but I had to, he would have been killed by Moriarty’s men.

 

My ‘death’ hurt him more than I expected it to, I thought he would have moved on. I never thought he would stay in Baker Street, or even in London. I never expected him to attempt suicide, he’s probably thinking the same about me.

 

I don’t know what I would do if John had died. I try not to think about it.

 

**~~~~**

 

I contacted Mrs. Hudson about a week ago. I told her everything; how I faked my own death, how I’d been shutting down Moriarty’s link of criminals, and how I planned to return to Baker Street, _‘More like return to John’_. He’s all I can think about since Mrs. Hudson and I talked. Mrs.Hudson sent me a key to 221B after we chatted so I could get in, she agreed that she would leave the flat on the anniversary so we could talk to John without any interference. I think she might not have wanted to be in the flat after what happened last year. I still feel guilty for that.

 

**~~~~**

 

 _‘I love you John, I have since I met you, since you saved my life. You made sure I was sleeping and eating, you never got angry or left after an argument. I’m sorry John I love you.’_ These unsaid words haunt me.

 

_‘I’m sorry John’_

 

**~ Hours Later ~**

 

It sounded like John was in the shower when I got inside the flat. _‘What a fun post-shower surprise!’_ I thought to myself sarcastically. John is going to be angry, that much I know. Maybe he will be happy to see me too. _‘Doubt it’_ My thoughts haven't been helping with the guilt, hopefully those thoughts will leave when I tell John how I really feel, how much I love him.

 

Upon entering the sitting room it was obsessively clean like it’d expected it to be. something was off though, there was no evidence of a gun being in the flat, _‘Mycroft did listen to me.’_ likely Mycroft had Greg take it from him. My bedroom door hadn’t been touched in what looked like two years. Did he really not go in there? How much did my ‘death’ affect him?

 

_‘John I’m so sorry’_

 

**~~~~**

 

I sat down on the familiar couch after I heard the shower turn off my stomach churned and my head started spinning _‘What do I do? Will he punch me? Do I let him punch me? Oh god what's happening?’_ I retreated inside my mind palace trying to calm myself.

 

I must have been very, very deep in my mind palace. It’s not a good thing when that happens, I miss things, I stop observing.

 

I didn’t hear the bathroom door open, _‘John must be getting dressed’_. That deduction was rebutted when I heard a drawer in the kitchen close like I said I miss things.

 

John walked back to the bathroom and put his hand on the doorknob. It was obvious he was hiding something in his pants pocket, it probably has something to do with Mycroft’s cameras all over the flat, but before I could deduce what he was hiding he spoke

 

“See you soon Sherlock” is all he said closing the door behind himself. I was paralyzed by realization to what John just said.

 

**~~~~**

 

When I could move again I leapt over the coffee table “No, NO, JOHN!...John wait!” I made it to the door, pounding on I said “JOHN!?...J-John?”

 

I didn’t get a response, all I could hear was the sound of running water. Then I heard it, it was a loud grunt, it sounded painful.

 

I tried the doorknob, unlocked thankfully. When the door swung open I am greeted what a bloody razor in the sink, and John in the bathtub. John is unfocused but smiling, _‘Why is he smiling?’_. Both his wrists are bleeding into the water filling the bathtub. “John, no John. John stay awake, John? JOHN?” I couldn’t watch him die, not before telling how I feel.

 

A burst of adrenaline runs through my body as I pull his soaked, and pale, body out of the bathtub. With my scarf, I try to stop the bleeding and call 999 “I need an ambulance at 221B Baker Street immediately!”

 

**~~~~**

 

Exactly seven minutes later paramedics got here, by then John is unconscious and still bleeding. I can vaguely hear Lestrade, Greg, say my name. He must have heard something happened here. When the paramedics took John he was right in front of me with concern and a little bit of shock on his face.

 

“What the hell did you do, Sherlock? Why did John do this? again!”

 

“I didn’t do anything, I waited for him on the couch- Oh god Greg he said ‘See you soon Sherlock’...”, Greg's face turned into a mix of sad and unsurprised like he’d been waiting for this all day.

 

**~~~~**

 

Getting into his car he said “You know he loves you right? You’re suicide crushed him in ways I don’t think even you can understand with all the deduction you do Sherlock.” Sitting next to him the car ride to A&E hospital is painfully slow and deafeningly quiet.

We arrived at the hospital a little after 1:30 pm, only minutes after the ambulance.

 

**~~~~**

 

Waiting for a doctor or a nurse to tell me something-anything about John was making my chest ache with fear. An hour passed before I spoke to Greg “What do you mean he loved me?”

 

 _‘Why is this so hard to believe?’_.

 

Greg managed to frown and give me a sad smirk at the same time “Sherlock” he sighed “He- Sherlock, he loved you, I mean he really loved you, I don’t know how to explain it to you Sherlock, but he loves you”.

 

_‘Your fault… your fault… you did this… you love him too and now he’s go- NO he’s not gone, he’s not dead! He’ not dead… he’s not dead… please, John, don’t be dead, I’m so sorry’._

 

**~~~~**

 

My head was swimming in insults, guilt, and worry by the time a nurse approached, snapping me out of my own thoughts.

 

She said we could go to see John, but he might not be awake from the blood lose. Greg mumbled he couldn’t see John in a hospital bed again and left without another word.

 

 

**~~~~**

 

John was unconscious when I get there, he looked so vulnerable and small lying on the hospital bed. It was unsettling seeing him so still.

 

There was a chair next to his bed, I couldn’t keep myself up anymore; too many emotions I didn’t plan feeling today had pumped adrenaline through my veins, it must be wearing off now.

 

As I sat down a nurse with red hair and green eyes slipped out, saying she’d come by to check on him later.

 

 

**~~~~**

 

John woke up around four pm. As soon as saw me his face immediately was stripped of all emotion.

 

“Either this is your idea of a joke, my pain killers have kicked in, or I’m dead." He paused for what felt like an eternity. "Sherlock please tell me I’m dead.” These words broke my heart.

 

“N-no John… this isn’t a joke, and your painkillers aren’t strong enough to cause hallucinations… you- you’re not dead John.” John’s face flooded with relief than disappointment. “John I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t think this would happen _twice_ , I’m sorry”.

 

John’s lips curled into a smile, tears streaming down his face, “I saw you everywhere for so long, when I saw you in the flat I-I just wanted to make the visions, the nightmares go away. I wanted to be with you Sherlock”. “You left. I was so alone” John said in a small voice, the tears streaming down his face turned into sobs.

 

I wrapped my arms around him, shushing him. “ John, I’m so sorry… I know, I know. I love you, I’m sorry.”

 

John pushed off me to look at me face “Y-you love me?”

 

“Yes, John I love you. I have since I met you since you saved my life. You made sure I was sleeping and eating, you never got angry or left after an argument. I’m sorry John I love you. I love you and I’m so sorry I left you I ha-”

 

My confession apology was cut off by John’s lips on mine, I kissed him back after I realized what was happening. John broke the kiss, he was still crying, but they look like tears of happiness, not the heart wrenching sobs from earlier. “I love you too Sherlock” he looked hesitant to finish his thought. When he did speak I understood why, “I did th-this to be with you, I now see that wouldn’t have worked, I’m sorry Sherlock”.

 

**~Weeks Later~**

 

Being back in 221B was nice, mostly the same from before I jumped from Bart's. John took some time to adjust to me being back, and alive. We never do really talk about that time.

 

For the first week and a half of being back John was constantly checking my pulse.

 

Sometimes he will sit in front of the door to my old bedroom, he refuses to go in there, but I’ll find him sitting on the floor obviously in his own head, looking up at the door like an interested child;  _‘I hope I don’t look like that when I'm in my mind palace’_. “John?” he doesn’t reply if he even hears me. We sleep in his room because of his refusal, but I don’t mind. Just being with John is good enough for me.

 

 

Other times I’ll feel John staring at me when he thinks I’m in my mind palace. _‘Does he think I’m not real?’_

 

**~ Next Day ~**

 

Greg came by earlier with a case for me and to check up on John; see if he's okay. John obviously isn't okay.

 

He refuses to talk to me about it, and puts on a practiced smile and recites in a rehearsed tone _“I’m fine”_ or _“I’m good”_. Every time I hear that tone I grimace. It was convincing enough for Greg.

 

 _‘Oh how pedestrian, looking but not observing’_ I had thought to myself.

 

\---------

 

After Greg left with a satisfied look on his face John dropped the fake smile. He looked so unhappy my heart ached, I can’t stand to see him like this anymore.

 

“John?” I asked cautiously.

 

“Hmm? What Sherlock?” there was that rehearsed tone again.

 

“What’s wrong John?”

 

“Nothing Sherlock, I’m fine”

 

“No your not, you-you’re clearly upset and I’d like to know why. Please John, what’s wrong?”

 

“Sherlock… I don’t want to talk about it, please just let it go.”

 

“John please talk to me…” John remained silent “Is this about when I left… I’m sorry I left-”

 

John cut me off, his voice laced with anger and frustration, “Left? No Sherlock, you didn’t leave, jumped of Barts while I watched. Sherlock I watched my best friend kill himself, and everyone expected me to just move on and forget it, and not even try to be with you. You’re right I’m not fine.”

 

My heart shattered, Greg was right. John was destroyed by my ‘death’, and it was all my fault. “John...I’m so sorry”.

 

“I know Sherlock, I know”.

 

“I promise I won’t leave again, not without you”.

 

“You’d better not” John chuckled lightly.

 

I pulled John into a hug and kissed his forehead.

 

“I love you, John, remember that. I love you and always will”.

 

“I will Sherlock. I love you too, and I will always love you as well.


End file.
